Heavy the Night
by Nine Bright Shiners
Summary: Elrond Half-Elven lingers on in Middle Earth after the departure of his wife for the Undying Lands. While on a diplomatic visit to Thranduil, he unexpectedly encounters someone he never thought to see again, and the existence he had persuaded himself he was content with is thrown into doubt. Elrond/OC (Astrid). Set some 300 years before the main events of The Hobbit.
1. Chapter 1 The Enchanted River

_Disclaimer: Middle Earth and all its inhabitants belong to Tolkien _

_A/N: __I plan for this story to be somewhere between 10 and 15 chapters in length. I hope you enjoy this first chapter and those to come!_

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><p><span>Chapter 1: The Enchanted River<span>

'They say the river is enchanted. Any who fall into it succumb to a deep sleep. If they should wake, their memories will be lost to them forever.'

A long-forgotten old wives' tale came back to Astrid as she looked down into the black river. Only now was she able to believe it**.** Murky sunlight filtered through the canopy, scattering tiny flickers of light across the river's surface. Darkest brown and green glints winked at the heavy boughs overhead. Her brother Nat blanched as he gazed down into the river. It reeked of magic.

'Is there no other way across?' he asked.

The swaying, creaking bridge looked as though the slightest pressure would send it hurtling down into the water.

'Not unless we waste precious days. On the map it says this is the only crossing place for several leagues, and the paths are wandering.' She paused. 'I have heard the lesser paths even change their route.'

Nat swallowed, steeling himself.

Astrid put a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'You must go first. You are lighter.'

It was useless to argue. His face set, Nat cautiously stepped onto the bridge. It swayed alarmingly, but showed no sign of breaking. Both of them exhaled in relief.

'Go on, Nat. Not far to go now.'

Nat crossed the bridge as fast as he could while placing his feet with care. In half a minute he stood safely on the other side, gazing back at his sister in wound-up apprehension. Holding her breath, as though it might lessen her weight, she stepped forwards. The bridge creaked horrendously, hissed curses running through the ropes and beams towards her. Pushing aside such fancies, she forced herself to take another step, then another. Nat watched her eagerly, his mouth half-open, one hand stretched out as though ready to catch her.

She was halfway across when the boards disappeared beneath her and she dropped like a stone. Nat was screaming her name but she could not reply because her mouth was filling with water. She spat it out at once, dreading to swallow the enchantment. She cast about wildly, searching for a place where she could climb ashore, but the banks were high and slippery.

'Follow me downstream!' she managed to call, as she was dragged away by the current. 'There'll be a lower bank soon and you can help me up. Run ahead and tie the rope somewhere secure. Use the strongest knot our father taught you.'

She saw Nat nod ardently, before he broke into a run, overtaking her quickly.

'Not too far ahead!' she cried, before a sudden drop made her tumble forward and inhale water. She spat it out, gasping. After that she kept her mouth tightly closed and concentrated on keeping her head above water. She could feel it tugging at her very bones, leeching at her strength. At first it felt shockingly alien. But gradually it warmed her. She was struck by the beauty of the river. It was like bathing among stars, sending them rippling with a single kick.

She was startled out of her reverie by Nat's terrified voice.

'There's no rope! It's in your pack!'

It would be impossible for her to throw it to him. Terror gripped her and the spell of the water momentarily receded. She grabbed at a cluster of vines dangling down the river's edge, but they came away in her hands and she plunged beneath the surface. She burst up again, gasping, but her strength was almost gone. She had forgotten Nat; all she wanted to do was sink back among the stars and hear them singing of the Ages they had watched over. Far away, she heard the joyful blast of a hunting horn. She smiled; soon she would join her ancestors, hunting and feasting through the endless night. Then her head struck something hard and everything went black.

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><p>It was a fine, warm day, though the deep canopy barred much of the sun's light. The horses cantered proudly through the trees, manes rippling and nostrils flaring. The Elf-lords laughed in exultation as their steeds leapt across a narrow stream, soaring for the briefest of moments before thundering back to the ground.<p>

Somewhere to their right the horn sounded; the hart had been sighted. Flashing a grin at Elrond, Thranduil suddenly wheeled his horse about and galloped off towards the sound. Elrond was about to follow, when he found his path blocked by a wall of trees. Cursing good-humouredly he plunged on up the path, waiting for a gap. Even as he kept a lookout to his right, he was careful to remain aware of his left, knowing that the Enchanted River flowed perilously close. At last he saw an opening. Bracing himself for the turn, he leaned forward in anticipation of the chase about to come.

His horse reared so suddenly he barely managed to stay astride her. A human child had burst onto the path, gasping for breath.

'My sister – she's drowning. Please – help us!'

It took Elrond only a moment to regain control of his mount and his faculties. 'Take me to her.'

The boy obeyed at once, vanishing into the trees. Seeing the trunks were too closely grown for riding, Elrond swiftly dismounted and raced after the boy. Moments later the trees vanished and they found themselves on the edge of the black river.

'There!' The boy pointed down into the water, where an unconscious woman was slumped against a massive tree root, too far below the edge of the bank to be simply hauled to safety. She was slipping, slowly but surely. In moments she would be swept away, beyond reach of help.

There was no time to think. He shed his cloak and breastplate before slipping into the river. At once he felt its merciless pull. Voices seemed to sing in his ears, inviting him to lay aside his cares and sleep in the tender arms of the river, to let it carry him far away, along a path dappled by the shadows of leaves and bright coins of sunlight.

He grit his teeth and forced himself to focus on reaching the woman. With a much keener affinity to nature and enchantment than Men, Elves were doubly vulnerable to the River – and if he did not reach her soon, neither of them had any chance of survival.

He swam forward with powerful strokes. Mercifully she was on the same side of the river as he, so he did not have to cross the roaring current. Just as he reached her she slipped into the river. Lunging forwards, he grabbed her by her pack, then got a firmer grip around her middle, careful not to be rough. Her pack was making it difficult to hold onto her; he fumbled with the straps, then tugged her towards him. In her comatose state she weighed like lead. Usually water would have made her buoyant, but this black water seemed to delight in weighting her like an anchor. Her pack slipped from her shoulders. He made a lunge for it but was too late; he hoped it contained nothing of value.

By now the song of the river was almost overwhelming. He slung the woman over his shoulder, making sure her head was above the water, before turning around and swimming back to the place he had slid in, where the ground was low and close to the level of the river. On his return he was now fighting against the current. The river leeched the strength from his bones. All he could do was focus on the bank, which drew closer at a tantalisingly slow rate. He thought vaguely that he heard someone call his name, but dismissed it at once. He could not afford to be distracted.

Suddenly hands were gripping his tunic, while at the same time the woman was snatched from him. He tried to grab her back, but he had no more strength than a young Halfling. He felt himself being lifted out of the river and laid out on the mossy bank.

'Lord Elrond!' insisted the voice, close to his ear. 'You must not sleep or you will begin to lose your mind. Revive yourself, my lord.'

'Here,' said another voice. 'Try this.'

A hand gripped his chin, tilting open his mouth and trickling in a few drops of a thick, sweet liquid. He tried to resist but to no avail. He swallowed resentfully. Moments later it felt as though a great fog were lifting from his mind; he blinked rapidly as a bright stroke of sunlight smote him through the tree cover.

'He's awake,' said the first voice with relief.

Elrond looked around him. It took a moment for him to recognise his companions Lindir, and Glorfindel. Then he realised his clothes were soaking wet.

'What happened?' he asked, before the answer came at once – 'Where is the woman?'

'She is safe, my lord. Your son is reviving her. If it had not been for you she would certainly have died.'

Elrond turned his head and saw the woman lying some distance away, deathly pale, still but for the minute rise and fall of her breast. The young boy knelt at her side while Elladan dripped _miruvor_ into her mouth. Elrond rose, with less grace than usual, waving away Lindir when he offered assistance. 'She will have lost much of her memory,' he said in the Elven tongue. 'She must have been in the river for some time.' The boy glanced up suddenly, though he could not have understood the words, and looked at Elrond pleadingly. Elrond turned his gaze on the woman once more.

Only then did he recognise her. A tumult of conflicting emotions skirmished in his throat. He did not attempt to tease them apart. Turning his back on her, he went to his horse.

'Help them both mount. We must return to Thranduil's Halls. There will be no hunt for us today.'


	2. Chapter 2 The Healing of Vilya

_A/N: __A huge thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited and followed this story. Your encouragement means a lot to me. Thank you to all the readers who gave it a chance!_

_The title for this chapter refers to Elrond's ring, named Vilya, one of the Rings of Power made for the Elves._

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><p><span>Chapter 2: The Healing of Vilya<span>

As they rode, the sun slowly dried Elrond's wet garments, yet he could not fully cast off the last echoes of the river's song. The other elves had recovered some of their earlier cheer, overcoming the disappointment of missing the hunt with the thought of the great feast that awaited them that evening. In a week's time, the Feast of Starlight would be upon them. Elrond's heart lifted at the thought. Then he remembered the woman and his mood grew sombre.

She was still lost in a deep sleep, despite the _miruvor _that had been given to her. When they had first set off she had been peaceful, but gradually her brow furrowed until she grew haunted and anxious. He had not looked back at her for some time, and did not now. He thought of all he knew about the river's enchantment, and how to combat its effect, while avoiding the detail of who it was he must heal.

Just ahead the sunlight suddenly intensified and they drew into the clearing spanning the cliff-edge that formed one side of the gorge marking the borders of the Greenwood King's Halls. He glanced back at the boy to see his reaction. The child's face was grave, but his eyes gazed at the delicate bridge and the intricately carved doors.

They dismounted and grooms came forward to take the horses to the stables. Then Elrond and the other elves crossed the bridge, the boy walking among them, the woman carried on a makeshift stretcher.

'Has the king returned?' Elrond asked one of the guards at the gates.

'No, my lord. He and his party are not expected for some time.'

Elrond smiled slightly at the guard's self-consciousness. 'No doubt you are wondering why my companions and I have returned so soon after setting out. In good time you will know, but for now, we have a woman with us who is gravely ill. Would you take us to a place where I can tend to her?'

At once the guard left his post and began to lead the way. Elrond took only the boy and the stretcher bearers with him. They made their way swiftly through the curving walkways of the Halls, passing beneath broad-spreading boughs and shimmering light. As they walked the boy drank in every detail, marvelling at the grace of Thranduil's domain. Elrond himself had only been to these halls once before, shortly after the end of the War of the Last Alliance, in which Oropher, Thranduil's father, had been killed. That time, an Age ago, the Mirkwood Elves had lived in palaces and halls throughout the forest, before the spiders had come and darkness had crept into the very veins of the forest's innumerable leaves. Glad though he was to visit these halls, Elrond thought of the end of his stay with little regret. In two weeks' time he would be returning to Rivendell. The heavy light of these caves swiftly grew oppressive after spending the greater part of an Age in the valley of Imladris, where bright water lay all around, under the open sky.

They had entered a new part of the caves, one given to residences. Their guide halted. 'This suite of rooms has long been empty; would they be suitable to your needs?'

'Of course.'

The woman was laid on a bed in an inner room, and the other elves departed, leaving Elrond with the boy.

'Will she recover?' asked the child. His solemn eyes were too old for him.

'Yes, though it may take some time. I will do my best to heal her.'

'With your ring?' Elrond was surprised that the boy had noticed it; the ring's nature was such that it was not easily seen.

'My ring has some power to heal, but it needs my hand to guide it.' The boy was quiet. 'Do you understand?

'Yes, lord.'

Elrond looked at him impassively; the boy reddened slightly and lowered his eyes. 'What is your name?'

'Nat, my lord.'

It was a name common to many dwellings of Men; but not a name of rank. There was a nobility about the boy's quiet gravity, however, that perturbed Elrond.

'You may stay if you wish, but the day will grow long. The river's enchantments are not easily lifted, and she was in its waters for some time.'

'I will stay.'

Elrond seated himself beside the bed and rested a hand lightly on the woman's brow. It was hot and damp beneath his palm; she had tossed about as they carried her through the halls, but now at his touch she began to calm. He closed his eyes and sent his mind to meet hers, seeking the source of her induced sleep and distress. He forgot his own apprehension as he lost himself in the work of healing.

Many hours had passed when he opened his eyes once more.

He saw the boy at once, sitting on the end of the bed, one hand resting absently on the woman's ankle. He had fallen asleep, his head bowing into his chest uncomfortably.

Elrond lifted the boy and carried him to a cushioned bench near the bed; that he might not wake alone.

Then he left.

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><p>'How is she?' Elrohir asked.<p>

'Sleeping, as she will for some time yet. But I have hope that her mind is healing. There is nothing more I can do for her; she must mend her memories herself.'

Elrohir looked as though he were about to ask something, but fell silent. Then he said cautiously, 'Thranduil wishes to see you.'

Elrond frowned. 'Is something wrong?'

'Perhaps it is nothing, but there has been talk of an orc pack venturing into the forest.' He paused.

Elrond knew that pause meant nothing good. 'And what else?'

'There is a Man, alone. Dark of skin, wearing the garb of the Haradrim.'

Elrond turned away from his son, concealing his unease. It could not be coincidence that a Harad had been sighted on the same day that the woman and the boy had been found by the Enchanted River. 'Long has it been since last I saw any from Harad venture so far north.' It had not been so long, however, since he last saw Haradrim in their native land, but this he had never yet spoken of, and did not speak of now.

'Where is Thranduil?'

'In the throne room.'

'Then I shall not tarry any longer.'

As he passed swiftly through the halls, Elrond's thoughts dwelt on the matter of the Harad. He could not deny that the presence of the Southron in Mirkwood troubled him more than that of the orcs. But perhaps such trepidation was justified; orc packs were fairly common in Mirkwood, while Harad Men were not. And then there was the matter of the woman…

He felt a slight unease at what Thranduil would have to say about his uninvited mortal guests. The Mirkwood elves were not known for their hospitality; they largely kept themselves to themselves, rarely leaving the forest, and few strangers ever ventured near. Elrond was visiting Thranduil for diplomatic purposes, hoping to strengthen the ties between the elves of Imladris and those of Mirkwood. He had little optimism that anything concrete would result. There had long been mistrust between Thranduil's people and the Noldor, elves among whom Elrond had lived for many years, becoming captain and herald of their king, Gil-Galad. Thranduil's father, Oropher had once been so reluctant to fight under the command of the Noldor king, that he led his company forward into battle before Gil-Galad had given the signal. As a result, many Greenwood elves were slain in battle, Oropher himself among them.

The doors to the throne room opened, and Elrond went through, heading directly towards the throne, in which Thranduil reclined. His pale hair gleamed around his shoulders; a rich burgundy robe flowed to his feet, pooling on the dais. When he spoke, his voice rang softly through the hall, rich and melodious.

'I am told you returned from the hunt several hours ago – and in the company of a mortal woman and child. Why did you bring them here?'

'The woman had fallen into the Enchanted River while attempting to cross it. I thought it right to bring her here where I could heal her.'

Thranduil watched him, and Elrond feared his own voice had not been as neutral as he desired. Then the Mirkwood King sighed and turned slightly in his throne. 'It has been many decades since a mortal last set foot in these halls. How long do they intend to stay?'

'I have not asked. But I doubt it will be long.'

Thranduil regarded him. 'And what do you make of the news of the Harad?'

Elrond replied after a moment. 'We might do well to watch him for a time, and so learn his intentions. If he is merely passing through, I cannot see any use in detaining him. If he lingers, he should be approached – with caution. It is unlikely he is a trader; most trade with the Haradrim has been broken off since they fought with Gondor. Determining the man's motives for coming here may well prove prudent.'

'You counsel is wise, as always, Elrond Peredhil,' said the elf-king, a rare smile playing across his lips, though it did not quite touch his eyes. 'And now, let us talk of lighter things.'

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><p>That night, when the feast was over, Elrond found himself taking a route which led past the woman's rooms. Food had been brought to her and the child; the elf who had served them had reported that the woman was still asleep, though so calmly and quietly that there was little cause for alarm. The boy had refused to leave her, even when invited to join the night's festivities.<p>

He had reached the outer door. He paused for a while and listened; only the soft sound of breathing reached his ears. Without warning he found himself remembering the last time he had listened to her breathing so softly, as moonlight spilled across her cheek, edging her eyelashes with light. He pushed the memory away at once, startled by its clarity. But as he silently returned to his rooms, the memory of her did not leave him. Soon she would wake; and it would be her turn to see him for the first time in fifteen years. He did not know whether the thought made him feel dread or anticipation.

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><p><em>Haradrim, also known as Southrons, are a race of Men from Harad, a desert land south of Gondor.<em>


	3. Chapter 3 Acquaintance Renewed

Chapter 3: Acquaintance Renewed

Time lost all meaning for her as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes she thought she saw a bright shining light; mostly there was only darkness. Once she heard her brother calling her desperately, but when she tried to answer her mouth filled with water. Terrified, she flailed for air, but to no avail. Then a voice spoke to her, deep and resonant, yet soothing. Every word seemed to penetrate her mind, alien yet beautiful. Though she did not understand their exact meaning, the words told of peace and renewal. At last she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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><p>She woke to a strange half-light filtering in from above. For a moment, she panicked, thinking she was still in the river; before the bed she was lying in convinced her otherwise. She lay still, slowing her breathing, and took in her surroundings. Her attention was caught by a chair in the corner of the room; the delicacy of its carved back made her heart sink. <em>Elves. <em>She did not know why the realisation should trouble her so: for years she had been captivated by the songs minstrels sang of past Ages, and the Elves who had lived and fought and loved in those distant times. But now when it seemed inevitable that she would meet the Firstborn in person, she found that she did not want to.

A door opened in the next room and she heard Nat speak. An unknown voice answered him. She strained to listen but they spoke too quietly to be overheard. No doubt Nat thought she was still asleep and was trying not to wake her. As she looked around the room again she noticed the clothes that had been laid out on the couch. With a start she realised that she was naked beneath the sheets. She felt suspiciously clean too; someone must have bathed her while she slept.

She decided to take the risk and get dressed, hoping she would not be disturbed. The fine gown was decidedly not her own; her clothes must be being washed. The material was of superior quality to anything she had ever worn; she felt she did not suit it. Pushing such misgivings aside, she dressed hastily, and was just struggling to fasten the ties at her back when Nat came in.

He smiled to see her awake again – before his eyes widened at her gown, despite his own elf-made tunic.

She could not help laughing. 'Do you still recognise me?'

'Only just. It might help the overall effect if you brushed your hair.'

'Oh it might, might it?' She pretended to smack his head.

He ducked, then picked up a comb from the dressing table and threw it to her. Catching it, she began to tidy her hair.

'You slept for nearly a whole day – though you might have slept longer if the elf-lord had not healed you. Do you remember what happened?' he asked.

'I remember trying to cross a black river – the Enchanted River. You got across safely but when I tried the bridge collapsed and I fell in. After that I can remember nothing.'

He hesitated before asking carefully, 'And you don't remember why we came to Mirkwood?'

The question unnerved her because she knew that she _should _know – all the more so because he clearly did not know himself. It must have been important if she would have kept it secret from him. 'No, I do not.'

He nodded, disappointed. 'Well, it must be the effect of the river. The elves told me its waters carry a spell of amnesia. They said the effect wears off after a while.'

'Tell me what happened after I fell in.'

'I ran to get help. I came across an elf-lord, tall and dark. He came at once when I told him what had happened. He managed to get you out, and then other elves arrived and they took us both here, to the halls of the elf-king of Mirkwood.'

'I thought that might be where we were.'

He frowned at her tone. 'Are you not glad to be here? I know how tales of elves have always fascinated you. Why would you not want to see them when at last you have the chance?'

She wondered what he would say if he knew that long ago, she had met one of the Firstborn. She rarely dwelt on her memories of him. Knowing she would never meet him again, she sought at least to keep him from her thoughts, even if she could never forget him.

Nat was watching her. She spoke quickly, deciding not to mention the elf or the apprehension that weighted her thoughts. 'There is no reason. It must be the river. I am curiously out of sorts this morning – it is morning now, isn't it?'

'Yes. An elf brought breakfast just now, if you would like some.'

They went into the next room together and found plates of bread and honey, with forest berries at the side, and a jug of fresh milk. All the while they were eating, Astrid felt a pressure growing in the back of her mind. She knew they had come to the forest for a purpose – something she had felt was urgent or she would not have risked crossing the decaying bridge. But try as she might she could not remember what it was. When Nat glanced at her in concern she forced herself to smile. She asked about the elf-lord who had rescued her but he could tell her little, only that he also had powers of healing. As she ate, she tried to think of a plan. They must leave soon – but first they would have to restock their provisions – especially since she had lost her pack to the river – and they would need to thank their hosts. But where would they go to when they left? If only she could remember why they had left Dale.

They were just finishing the meal when there was a knock at the door.

'Come in,' Astrid called, hesitant. She was not usually shy, but it was not every day one met an immortal.

The door opened and an elf-lord entered, smiling at Nat before turning to Astrid. 'Greetings, my lady. It gladdens me to see you have recovered. I am Lindir, counsellor to the Master of Imladris. If you are ready, I would take you to him. Lord Elrond wishes to speak with you.'

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><p>Yesterday afternoon, caught in the thrill of riding through close-set trees, Thranduil's spirits had been the most uplifted Elrond had yet seen. But that cheer had soon faded; even at last night's feast he had been distant. Now, as they edged around the topic of renewing contact with the Lothlórien elves, Thranduil's voice was almost cold. Elrond was almost reminded of the proud moodiness of Oropher. Despite having often been told that he was adept at diplomacy, Elrond found himself hesitating to speak, fearing to offend his host unintentionally with only the slightest verbal misstep.<p>

Early that morning news had come that the Harad was walking north in order to find more secure passage across the river, having come to the broken bridge. The orc pack had now passed south of Thranduil's halls, but Elrond would not feel easy until they were out of the forest altogether. Of all dark creatures, he hated orcs the most, almost as much as his sons did. Always he feared that Elladan and Elrohir might disappear one night to hunt the orcs themselves, in vengeance for all the pain the foul creatures had caused their family. And then there was the ever-present danger of the so-called Necromancer, who had become a frequent topic at the meetings of the White Council.

Yet Thranduil remained seemingly impassive in the face of these troubles, and showed little inclination to renew acquaintance with the elves of Lothlórien, or Imladris.

Once he enquired briefly of his mortal guests. When Elrond said the woman still slept, Thranduil had only said, 'No matter,' before speaking of other things.

It was a relief to Elrond when their meeting at last ended, and he was able to leave, walking swiftly to the room he had told Lindir to bring the woman to. After a long hesitation, he had decided it would be best if they met privately, hoping to lessen her shock when she recognised him.

To his relief the room was empty. It was fairly small, and better lit than many in Thranduil's realm. The book-lined walls calmed him, reminding him of his library in Rivendell. He took down a book and sat, trying to focus his mind on the pages.

It seemed no time at all had passed before he heard footsteps. He frowned at the page he was reading, composing himself.

'My lord Elrond.'

He raised his head. Lindir was walking towards him – and at his side was the woman.

She faltered as she recognised him, and her face turned white. His eyes were caught by hers, and the years fell away.

With an effort, he looked away, rising to his feet.

'_Gi hannon, _Lindir,' he said. 'You may leave us, now.'

Lindir's footsteps faded away. They were alone.

She remained utterly still, breathing shallowly as she recovered from the shock of seeing him. He wished he had thought to send her a note to prepare her. He wanted to apologise, but found he could not speak. Their eyes met. She was looking at him intently, as though to convince herself it was truly him. Abruptly she turned away and put her hand against a nearby pillar for support. She lowered her head, closing her eyes briefly.

He wanted to go to her, but was unable to move. He had planned to greet her, to say something about how long it had been since last they met, but words felt inadequate. Instead he could only watch her as she remained motionless, unreadable, untouchable. At last she drew upright and looked at him. Her face was calm now, though a trace of uncertainty remained in her eyes. He had never seen her like this – when last they had met she had been distant and proud. Though some of that pride yet remained, it was softened; and there was an openness to her face that had not been there before.

Her voice was low when she spoke.

'I never thought to see you again.'

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><p><em>AN: Please do leave a review. I would love to hear your thoughts on the story so far._

_Gi hannon _is the informal Sindarin version of 'thank you' (I hope!)


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